


Til Tonight Do Us Part (Hum Hallelujah)

by merpwrites



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of sads, M/M, There's a party, sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merpwrites/pseuds/merpwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Hum Hallelujah by Fall Out Boy</p>
<p>The moment James met Bruce, his world turned upside-down.<br/>He was in the basement of the house of some kid he’d never met, drinking something that was advertised as “spiked punch” but was more likely 97% vodka, watching a band of kids who definitely had never actually performed together in their lives.<br/>But James was captivated, and had been captivated from the moment he walked downstairs by the boy that was pounding away on the drums like they were his lifeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Til Tonight Do Us Part (Hum Hallelujah)

_Hum Hallelujah, Just Off the Key of Reason_

The moment James met Bruce, his world turned upside-down.

He was in the basement of the house of some kid he’d never met, drinking something that was advertised as “spiked punch” but was more likely 97% vodka, watching a band of kids who  _definitely_  had never actually performed together in their lives – by the way the bassist kept staring at the guitar player, they may not even all know each other.

But James was captivated, and had been captivated from the moment he walked downstairs by the boy that was pounding away on the drums like they were his lifeline. Although he was probably no older than James, he already had the development of an impressive beard, and it was hard to tell in the dim of the basement, but James was  _pretty_  sure that he was either wearing a very revealing tank top or that was his shirt laying on the floor by the edge of the platform that had been built as a makeshift “stage”.

James stood there, slightly wobbling, bobbing his head for three straight songs before Bruce finally looked at him.

James, in his alcoholic haze, felt like time was standing still, as Bruce stared at him as he pounded away on kit in front of him. And then the song was over, and Bruce was standing up, calling for the singer to switch places with him, and oh  _god he was shirtless_  and Bruce is picking up his shirt and wiping the sweat off his face with it and James wondered if this is what swooning felt like because  _holy shit_  this guy was built like a bear, fur and all.

Bruce stepped up to the mic, draping the shirt over his shoulders, and locked eyes with James again, giving him a very obvious and  _very_ suggestive wink.

And then he was singing, and he sounded nothing like an angel, his high note slightly flat and James was pretty sure he was singing in a completely different key from the guitarist but it was soulful and edgy and somehow it just  _worked_  and James didn’t know when music started giving him boners but he would be lying if he wasn’t chubbing up a little as Bruce crooned into the mic, eyes locked on James the whole time, swaying towards him, leaning dangerously over the edge of the stage.

After a few more songs, he wiped his brow with his shirt and said goodbye to the rest of the band, hopping down and  _oh god walked right towards James_.

It was dim and James was drunk, but he could just make out that those twinkling eyes were brown when this stranger, this absolutely  _breathtaking_ man got close enough to touch.

“You see something you like?” He asked, voice hoarse and braking from practically screaming into the microphone.

“Uh” James said eloquently, his face heating up, and he went to look down at his feet but suddenly the world was spinning and he was pitching forward and –

And then he wasn’t, and a pair of strong, rough hands were gripping his upper arms.

“You are  _drunk_.” He said, laughing, and this close, James can smell the alcohol on his breath as he spoke.

“So are you.” James said, finally, which just caused the man to wheeze even harder, and it made James laugh, too, because who in  _the hell_ laughs like that?

“I’m Bruce.”

“James.”

“Well, James,” Bruce said, and James squinted to see him in this light, in this haze, and he could’ve sworn that Bruce licked his lips, “Want to get out of here?”

The suggestion was like a loaded gun, and James – troublemaker James, rule-breaker James, wild card James – grabbed the barrel with the safety off.

Bruce grabbed him by the hand and they stumbled outside – James stumbled, Bruce walked steady, and James idly wondered if Bruce just didn’t have that much to drink or if he just drank often enough that it didn’t affect him anymore. They tumbled to a beat-up pickup, and James was being pushed into the passenger seat and Bruce leaned over him to help James’ fumbling fingers with the seatbelt before sliding into the driver’s seat and James sobered up enough in the cold of the truck and the frigid night air to ask how drunk Bruce was because James was  _not_ looking to die tonight.

“No, no, never. I only had one beer. Just – hold on.” He said, and suddenly he was pulling something out of the center console and  _was that a breathalyzer?_

“Always gotta be prepared, Jamesy.” Bruce teased, taking it himself and then turning to show James, “See? Way under the legal limit.”

James nodded at that, and Bruce passed him a bottle of water, instructing him to drink all of it, if he can. When James asked why, Bruce just shrugged, and the streetlights cast strange shadows on his face.

“You drank a little too much, without some water in your system you’ll get super dehydrated. I’m not gonna be responsible for your death.” Bruce explained, and James nearly spit out the gulp of water he had taken because he didn’t know what he was expecting from the bear-man with the glinting eyes and coy smile but this was  _not_ it. Not at all.

Bruce pulled into the parking lot of a 7-11 a few minutes later, parked the car along the side of the building, the only light being a lamppost at the corner of the building, and James slid out of the car, still a little unsteady but able to walk without tripping and wobbling, and Bruce must’ve deemed that Good Enough, because after watching him for a few moments, he turned and leaned back into the truck.

James observed his ass as he rifled around for something inside, coming back with a thick blanket and a hoodie. Bruce slipped the hoodie over his head, and James mourned the fact that Bruce was no longer shirtless, almost missing Bruce swing his legs over the bed of the truck and turn, the hand being held out for him to take.

But James grabbed it, and braced one shoe onto the back tire, and then Bruce pulled, and James wasn’t light – he was 98% muscle, after all – but he was flying into the bed of the truck, and crashing into Bruce, and Bruce was crashing into the back of the cab, his hands tight on James’ hips and pulling James close, so, so close and then Bruce is staring down at James and James is staring up at Bruce and James can only see half of Bruce’s face from the streetlight, sees the curve of his jaw and the glint in his eye and how clear they are, how brown, how aware. The night is bitter cold and all James is wearing is jeans and a thin t-shirt under his leather jacket and he should be freezing but he feels like there’s fire being pumped into his veins and the fire is speaking Bruce’s name.

“Am I dreaming?” James asked, because it was a very James-like dream: a hunky stranger comes and sweeps him off his feet? Sounded like one of James’ fantasies.

Bruce smiled, a small, coy smile, and James’ heart melted as he shook his head, “No, no dreams, James.” Bruce said, and then he surged forward, locking James’ lips in a kiss so that his alcohol-addled mind wouldn’t get his mouth talking again. It was a duel of tongues and their teeth clashed and Bruce’s beard rubbed against James’ face and James wasn’t entirely sure if he liked that or not but it was  _hot_  and James was on  _fire_ and his brain was short-circuiting, finally silent for once, the only thought being a low, chanted _Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, Bruce_. And Bruce broke away, pushed James down – gently, oh so gently – onto the blanket, and James’ jacket was pushed off by Bruce.

They’re touching from mouths to toes, Bruce on top of James, rocking his hips down onto him, James thought for a fleeting moment that he should think this through, he should be ashamed, he’s in public, but Bruce’s mouth was sucking on the skin of James collar bone  _just right_  and his back arched off the bed of the truck and James  _moaned_ and he tried to bite it back but Bruce was suddenly  _right there_ , nose bumping against him, telling him not to be quiet, no one will hear them, that Bruce wants to  _hear_ him and something in James snaps and he’s surging up, crashing his lips against Bruce’s and tangling his fingers in Bruce’s hair, Bruce’s hoodie, renewed vigor and Bruce responds just as urgently, just as fierce as James –

James curled into Bruce’s side, sighed in content as Bruce drew the constellations on his back, the two of them wrapped up in the blankets from the cab of Bruce’s truck. And James doesn’t question why Bruce had so many blankets, why Bruce knew no one would hear them, what that implied, no. Instead, James gazed up at Bruce’s face, and he could just barely make out the whites of his eyes, and asked in a voice so small he surprised himself:

“Don’t leave?”

Bruce smiled down at him, “Til tonight do us part.”

James took that as a yes, still smoldering from Bruce’s fire.

* * *

James discovered that Bruce was in his math class that Monday morning. He was talking to Adam about how he had abandoned James at that party, when fingers dragged across his upper arm, resting heavy on the back of his neck.

“Hey, James.” Bruce said, and before James could say anything, Bruce was gone, his hand was gone, and James was suddenly cold as Bruce moved to the back of the room.

“Is that the guy?” Adam asked in a hushed whisper, and James just flushed bright red and clapped a hand over Adam’s mouth.

* * *

It was Thursday and school was closed the next day when James woke up to something hitting his window. It was like something out of Romeo and Juliet, for when James stumbled out of bed, shirtless and disheveled, there was Bruce, perched on a thick tree branch outside his window.

“How in the hell do you know where I live?” James demanded, throwing open the window and instantly regretting it, because holy  _shit_ it was cold.

“Easy, James, you’re a hard guy to ignore.” Bruce said, starting to climb towards the window, and James had his hands extended before he realized he had done it, and Bruce’s hands grasped his, and James pulled, and Bruce was through the window and in James’ space, hands moving to spread across James’ back, onto James’ hips, dipping down below the waistline of his sweatpants, and James was on fire once again, radiating from Bruce’s hands and digging deep into muscles and organs.

“Don’t leave?” James asked again, hours later, when the sun was starting to peak over the horizons and white-picket-fences, and Bruce wheezed, already halfway out the window when James said it.

“Til tonight do us part, James, baby.”

* * *

It went on like that, Bruce’s heavy hands finding James’ neck, his shoulders, his waist during the day, his hot mouth finding James’ at night – in James’ windowsill, in the eerie yellow pools streetlights made in abandoned parking lots, underneath bleachers and behind trees.

James found himself relishing in the half-lights, in the shadows, a different part of Bruce’s face, Bruce’s body illuminated every time, shadowy and mysterious with his glinting eyes and effervescent grin. And James – James couldn’t stop the fire singing through him if he tried; the fire with Bruce’s name, Bruce’s mouth; the fire that kept James warm in the increasingly colder nights in more ways than one.

Every time, James would ask not to leave. Sometimes early, sometimes later, sometimes breaking away in the middle of a kiss to whisper it against Bruce’s rough cheek.

Every time, Bruce would promise the same thing.

James couldn’t tell if it was too much or not enough, but he was the one who had grabbed the gun, so he settled with it –  _For now_ , he promised himself, gazing at his ceiling and drifting in an out of consciousness,  _for now._

* * *

Winter Break meant that James had to go, had to spend the entire two weeks with family, across the country from home, from  _Bruce_.

“Don’t leave?” James asked, after breaking the news, the night before he left, parents away at a benefit gala, when Bruce seemed ready to roll out of bed and through the door. Instead, he pushed open James’ window and pulled out a cigarette, puffing it into the night air.

“Of course, baby, til tonight do us part.” Bruce promised, and it was good enough for James, who wasn’t sure what Bruce meant, who was never sure what Bruce meant when he said or did anything, really, but James was addicted to the fire that Bruce brought with him and he needed it, craved it like air, and the moon was illuminating Bruce’s profile in a way that made him look like a king, a saint, an angel. And in that moment, Bruce could’ve told James anything and James would’ve believed him, because James’ heart played Bruce’s song.

* * *

James came back early. He came back on New Year’s Eve, and he knew where Bruce would be, so he took his dad’s bike and drove there himself, because he needed to see Bruce, needed to feel the fire that he hadn’t felt in two weeks.

Bruce’s truck was in the same spot, under the same streetlight in the same parking lot of the same 7-11, but he wasn’t alone, and James could hear high-pitched moans and saw a halo of black  _curls_  illuminated in the yellow light and James was ice cold, a glacier and the veins that once thrummed with Bruce’s name froze over as James turned the key with numb fingers and rode home fast – too fast, and if it wasn’t for his visor his tears would be freezing, too, and James realized that Bruce was playing a different song entirely, that his fire was more than just pleasure, that his fire was  _pain_  and James was feeling it, feeling the emptiness of it as he curled up, alone in his bed, his window locked because he knew, he  _knew_ without Bruce saying anything that he wouldn’t be climbing up James’ tree tonight, wouldn’t be doing that ever again.

_I thought I loved you, But it’s just how you looked in the light._

**Author's Note:**

> (Crossposted from tumblr)  
> merpwrites.tumblr.com


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